"The man,--he is big and dark,--confronts the artist as he sits. The intruder, without a word, grasps the sharp tool from the fingers of the one who holds it, and thrusts it into the breast of his victim. He darts across the room, turns off all light, and--it is so black,--I cannot see him depart. But--I hear him--I hear his stealthy tread. He comes back, past the dying man,--he hears a groan,--he pauses,--I can see nothing, but I hear two come in at opposite doors. They stand, breathing heavily in fear--in horror of--they know not what. As they stand, half-dazed--I hear the man--the murderer slip past one of them, and out of the room. The light flashes on. The room is dazzlingly bright. I see the two who first entered. They are women. They gaze affrightedly at each other and then at the man in the chair. Two others have appeared. They are at the other end of the long room. It must have been one of these who flashed the light on. They are a man,--a servant he is,--and a woman. Both are terrorised at what they see. The two women near the chair of the dying man accuse each other of the crime. But this is the frenzied cry of shock and fright. They do not mean it--they scarce know what they utter. The dying man raises his head in a final effort of life. He sees the scene with the clearness of the dying brain. He hears the servant say, 'Who did this?' He replies, with upraised, shaking finger--'Natalie--nor Joyce.' He means neither of these innocent women was concerned. He tries to tell more, to tell of his assailant, but Death claims him. His voice ceases, his heart stops beating,--he is gone. That is all. With his last breath he tried to say, 'Neither Natalie nor Joyce,' but his failing speech rendered the words unintelligible. The vision fades." Orienta ceased speaking, her eyes drooped shut and she lay back in her chair as one asleep. The silence remained unbroken for a minute or more. The beautiful voice still rang in their ears. They were still back in the scene they had heard described. The vividly drawn picture was still with them, and there was no reaction until Bobsy Roberts said, in a tone of awed belief, "By Jove!" Then the stunned figures moved. Beatrice looked at Joyce with a smile of deep thankfulness, and then turned to smile at Natalie. The girl was radiant. She had sensed acutely the whole scene, and she realised perfectly what the revelation meant. Barry was looking at her adoringly, and his face was full of triumphant joy. Joyce looked still a bit dazed. Had the experiment really proved so much more successful than she had dared to hope? She looked at Roberts. He was scribbling fast in a notebook, lest some point of the story escape his memory. Orienta opened her eyes, roused her long, exquisite figure to an upright posture, and passed her hand gently across her brow. "Is it enough?" she asked. "Are you satisfied?" "May we ask questions?" eagerly exclaimed Bobsy. "Yes, but only important ones. I am very weary."